


absolutions

by algae_dad



Series: communis in fide [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Relationship, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rimming, frank came here to drink scotch and eat ass and he's all out of scotch, hypersensitive, i love these disabled boyfriends, just matt getting his ass ate, super senses, they get a lil tipsy and somehow it ends w frank's tongue in his ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 07:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17116835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/algae_dad/pseuds/algae_dad
Summary: This, Matt decides, is Hell: to be tortured so with inescapable pleasure, to come and come but never find release, so many little deaths it's impossible he's still alive.or: Matt's been gettin his ass beat when all he's needed is his ass eat





	absolutions

They're halfway through a bottle of scotch (Frank had mocked him readily for how expensive it was, but considering he drank most of it he's certainly not complaining) when Frank’s breath hitches in a way Matt knows means questions, the flutter in his heart betraying they're questions he thinks are rude to ask.

His voice doesn't betray that at all, just as gruff and masked in bravado as always, “So with your senses — ”

“I'm still blind, Frank.”

Frank huffs, “Believe me Red, I don't think you listen to audio descriptions for fun. Nah, I’s just wonderin’ how your senses work when you're not doin’ your boxing ninja thing. Like at a… a spice market, or some shit.”

Matt snorts out a surprised laugh; “I didn't think 'The Punisher' would be aware of such things,” with the new heat radiating off of him Matt can practically feel Franks glare, “but I _have_ actually been to one. I can smell pepper spray from fifty feet still in the can, so let's just say being one foot away from peppers in all directions is something I'd rather not do again.” He ends with a grin, taking another sip to wash out the taste of his neighbor’s burnt stir-fry. 

His grin slowly slips to something neutral as he listens to Frank’s heart: faster again. That with his mouth dropping open slightly: surprise? “So you can't like, turn it on and off?”

His laugh this time is bitter, “Can you turn your hearing off?” But he sighs, and recalculates; “I was trained how to focus, to analyze as much information as possible to create a… picture of the world. I can dull my overall focus and dull the picture, but I'm still going to be taking in all the information. Like right now: I'm only focussed on our conversation, but I can still hear them arguing three floors down about who has to clean the dishes, and I can still feel each thread of my sweatpants against my skin.”

The surprise doesn't disappear, but the muscles in Frank's back relax as he slumps into the couch and mucus grows thick in his throat. Empathy, with a lingering curiosity. “Damn. That fuckin’ sucks. Wait,” heart picks up again, much faster than before, and heat gathers in his face and waist, “with your sense of touch like that, how the hell do you have sex?”

Matt's body suddenly mirrors Frank's, though he straightens in his chair. He blames his responsiveness and the other man's forwardness on the exhaustion, the alcohol. “Ehm, well…” He can feel the same flush of heat in Frank’s face that’s spreading down his own, and while he knows his is embarrassment, Frank is making no move to change the subject, “I uh, normally focus on something else, otherwise it won’t… last.” he finishes lamely, punctuating it by draining his glass.

“Is it uncomfortable?” It's like Frank's determined to unsettle him, his posture only growing more relaxed.

Grabbing the bottle and pouring himself another half, he mumbles, “Only as uncomfortable as this conversation,” before swallowing his pride with another sip; if Frank wants to paint him the blushing virgin, he’ll show just how untrue that is. “It can be, but that's normally after I've come more than once,” a sharp inhale and heart thudding faster; finally he's gaining some ground, “I learned early on that if I was fully focussed, I'd come just from the kissing.” Shifting from the couch, uncomfortable, and Matt presses the advantage, “I'd try to make it last longer by eating them out, but I'd just come from that too, and by the time we finally started fucking I was so oversensitive I couldn't come again. So I focussed on other things, the sirens outside, the food molding in the fridge; I got a reputation for being distant, but it was better than the alternative.” He leaves out the rumors that he was gay, that for a while he believed them, not even knowing bisexuality was a possibility.

Frank is quiet, but his body is thunderous, heart pounding, pumping blood to his face and lower… Oh. Only now does Matt realize what he should have known from the beginning. Frank hasn't been trying to embarrass him: he's trying to  _ seduce _ him.

“ _ Shit _ , Red,” And that confirms it, Frank’s voice deepened by arousal, breathing shallow, “you're tellin’ me you can come from eating someone  _ else _ out? An’ you're  _ embarrassed _ by that?”

With his delayed realization, Matt's brief confidence has vanished, and all he can manage is a nod. The couch groans as Frank shifts forward, leaning in, and oh Matt can no longer blame his flush on embarrassment as he whispers: “Can you not see how that's just about the  _ hottest _ thing I've ever heard?”

The collar of Matt's shirt is suddenly uncomfortably tight, as is the waistband of his pants. “I can't see anything.” he jokes, yet his voice is thick with want, something so rare at this point it's almost foreign. Subconsciously he's leaning in, feeling the heat and wet of Frank's breath on his face. If he just leans closer, if he reaches out—

“Red,” while still breathy, Frank’s tone is more serious, “will you let me touch you?”

Matt hardly has to think, “ _ God _ yes.” And Frank’s fingers are on him, tracing over his eyebrows and down his temples; he lets down some of his shields, letting his focus slowly center on the touch and  _ oh _ . He'd thought he knew fire but this,  _ this _ is fire, flame licking over his skin. It's only minutes; seconds really and he's close. Matt can't remember the last time he let himself go like this, can barely remember his name as each groove and callus of Frank's fingers catches on a different part of his face, forcing out a gasp as a thumb catches on his lip.

“I-I need,  _ Frank, _ ” he breathes it like a prayer, an absolution, and the Holy Spirit comes to him in Frank’s wet breath on his neck,

“I gotchu, Red,” licks under his chin and he's gone, leaning into Frank and shuddering through his climax.  Teeth scraping lightly down his neck sends him convulsing; the pleasure peaks and washes over him again and again, each nerve in his body alight with sensation. A low whine is forced out of him as the orgasm finally slows, but the heat coiled in his stomach does not dim.

Shifting to get a better sense of Frank, he gasps as the wet fabric of his boxers sticks and pulls against him, and he has to push the gently nibbling mouth away or risk overload. Frank moves back without protest, still chancing a flick of the tongue over Matt's finger as he guides him away, sending another shudder through him. Breathing heavily, he takes stock of their position on the couch, of the clothes separating them and how his own member tries valiantly to match Frank's hardness.

The other man sighs, clove cigarette and instant coffee breath, “Jesus, Red.”

Matt tries not to let shame smother his pleasure, tries to focus on the awe (and considerable arousal) in his voice at his… sensitivity on full display. 

Apparently deciding their seconds break was long enough, Frank surges forward to kiss him, and whoever described kisses as fireworks was wrong. It's like Frank's mouth is a live wire, shooting electricity throughout his body, the taste of whiskey in his mouth enough to get him drunk again. The feel of another’s stubble dragging against him is new and just as intoxicating. He’s not hard, but Matt’s on a fast and familiar track to coming again, the tongue tracing over his lips drawing him closer and closer. It’s hard to put in relatable terms; it’s not as if it feels like Frank is licking at a true erogenous zone, the sensation is different, but he can feel every taste bud dragging and sticking over his skin, can pinpoint the moment each individual nerve reacts to the wet pressure. It’s frighteningly intimate to let himself focus on what’s happening, not just with Frank, but with himself. His pleasure is now the center of his world, a part of him he ritualistically denies suddenly providing the lens through which he sees the world.

Frank licks down from his mouth back to his neck, spending careful time sucking and licking at his adam’s apple. His breath comes faster and faster, the increased blood flow to his skin only heightening his pleasure. Occasionally, Frank will let his teeth scrape across, sending a white hot pleasure through him, breaking up the gradual warming all throughout him. He comes with a sigh, the release only temporary yet no less sweet.

Part of Matt wants to push Frank away, to talk himself out of this or give some of the pleasure he’s stealing back, but then calloused fingers trace his collarbone and he lets sensation reign again. He loses track of how many times he comes, or even if he really does; all he knows, all he  _ is _ is Frank’s mouth moving down his body, breathing and soaking through his shirt ( _ Frank's shirt _ , he thinks dully, remembering it had been set out for him on the bed after his post-mission shower. Fitting that Frank owns this, too) before seemingly getting restless and tugging it up and off him, leaving Matt's limp arms trapped in the sleeves. He only has to breathe on his nipple to send him crashing yet again over the edge, though at this point it's not so much one edge as an endless staircase, his broken body forever falling down Penrose steps yet his pleasure never receding. 

Throughout all of this, Frank has punctuated his ministrations with soft praises, a mantra of ‘God, Red’s taking up any space in his head not filled with tongues and lips and teeth. “So. Fucking. Good. For me.” he huffs into Matt's skin, and Matt doesn't know if it's the breath or the words or this whole fucking situation but he's crying out, Frank cupping his ass and sucking desperate sounds out of him.

“Please, I need, I-I — _ Frank _ ,” hot tears spill down his face, his whole body begging for a release and praying that this never ends.

Frank hums, kneading Matt's ass as he makes a show of coming to a decision. “I'm gonna eat you out then.” he says, as if talking about the laundry or what role he'd take next in a mission.

And Matt  _ whines _ , squirms in his seat as a want he's never seen realized suddenly overtakes him. His body is jello, though, so Frank maintains control, flipping him over with his stomach on the seat and his face pressed into the backing with all the effort of moving a duffel bag. Now Matt's crotch is pressed into the edge of the cushion and that's almost too much to handle, his neglected cock reeling at the stimulation.

His pants are gone next, briefs with them, and Matt doesn't have time to feel embarrassed before the cool of the room on his exposed flank is replaced with hot breath. Compared to the snail’s pace of before, Frank is moving fast, too fast for Matt to react beyond his instinctual hunger for  _ more _ .

Those calloused fingers are back, Frank's hands running up and down his ass. The only thing Matt can hear is his own heart, pumping to push blood down to the newly touched skin. Frank parts his cheeks and Matt ruts into the seat, tears and drool slicking the fabric under his face as he pants and keens. He's hazily aware of a chuckle behind him before cool air is blowing over his hole and  _ oh. _ If Matt thought he was coming before he was wrong, the pleasure rushing through him now so much  _ sharper _ , cutting the strings that control him as he bends and jerks, torn between hiding from the pleasure and arching into it.

His cock is desperately hard, the dry fabric under it almost painful in its contrast to the wet heat behind him. Then there's a tongue trailing lightly down his crack, fire lighting up skin before growing at his hole, Frank's tongue swirling languidly across it.

This, Matt decides, is Hell: to be tortured so with inescapable pleasure, to come and come but never find release, so many little deaths it's impossible he's still alive, still feeling every bump of Frank’s tongue as it goes in.

As it goes  _ in. _ He's sorry for his errors, hopes God will forgive his blasphemy as he was wrong: this is  _ Heaven _ . He is nothing but pleasure, a being of light whose sole purpose is the pleasure of being. The fabric under him is as wet as his tear-streaked face, yet he is the fabric, melting into it.

The air shakes in a way he knows is someone talking, but he's too much a bundle of lit matches to respond, the flame growing with every labored breath he takes even as it gradually dies.

Pants are pulled back over his legs and through no will of his own he's turned to curl into the seat. He's wishing for the air to stop shaking before he remembers, again, that someone's talking, and discovers that him also talking could put an end to that. But first, he has to listen.

It takes a while for him to get from the sound of blood rushing to sounds outside of his body, but eventually he latches onto the voice. “It’d do me real good if you could say somethin’ Red; I don’t think you want the time someone finally drags your ass to the hospital to be ‘bout cumming too hard.”

Matt wrinkles his nose at the thought. “Don't flatter yourself.” he rasps, and hears Frank’s form sag in relief.

“Considerin’ I ate your ass so good you passed out, I think you flattered me plenty.”

**Author's Note:**

> listen if you think frank could take one look at matt's ass and not want to eat it out you're just wrong  
> im writing matt having a lil breakdown about this (cause he can't accept nice things without having at least one breakdown) and Revealing some Trauma to frank, just not sure whether it should be a second chapter or a part 2, lemme know  
> as always, comments cure my depression


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